Joyce of the House of Dreams
by violingrl18
Summary: Joyce Ford is the daugther of Rilla Blythe and Ken Ford.  Set in 1939 on the eve of WWII, she learns of her namesake and many other wonderful stories from her grandmother Anne Blythe.  Please read & review.  I don't own the characters or the story!  :
1. Joyce's World

"What divine radiance the sunset is," murmured young Joyce Ford. Gazing into the west, she drank in the fire and water where sky and sea met. The sun's last rays gave everything within sight a rosy glow. Evening was her favorite time of day, for all the world appeared to be different. It had an ambience of bygone days of The Island. At sixteen years of age, Joyce was at the edge of girlhood and just a few steps away from womanhood. She did not know what lay beyond the horizon of her life, but it was sure to push her to those final steps, maybe even farther than she could imagine.

"Joyce!" a voice called from a distance. "Come home, child, it will be a chill night and you'll catch your death of cold out there!"

She tore herself away from her "heaven on earth", for she knew the voice well. Visiting her grandparents always involved Susan Baker. Susan had worked for them for so many years; it was as if she was family, another grandmother to Joyce. She always spoiled her and at times, got the queerest look in her eyes, almost as if she were thinking of someone else. The same look made her feel strange knowing it was her namesake they were imagining, little Joyce of the House of Dreams. Yes, her namesake would have been her mother's oldest sister, her aunt. Joyce Ford never saw the anguish return to her Grandmother Blythe's eyes after every visit; she never heard the sobs that seemed too shake the very foundation of Ingleside. No, all she ever knew were Anne's dreams of her darling Joyce being made real at last by her granddaughter. That was all that mattered.

As Joyce approached Ingleside, she saw a familiar sight, one that was always near to her. Her grandfather, the old town doctor, and the retired Presbyterian minister, John Meredith; deep in conversation discussing Europe, politics, and whatever else would come to mind. Her grandmother, with eyes flashing a vivid green, and Rosemary Meredith; were talking of their children and grandchildren. Her musings were interrupted by a greeting from Gilbert, her grandfather. She turned her attention to him, smiling; her gaze meeting his. A favorite of his was she and all because she was so much like his own wife, her grandmother.

Now seated with her grandmother and Mrs. Meredith, she looked up to the heavens as one counting stars might, until she noticed that the Meredith's were leaving for the manse. Joyce bid them good night and with a word of such to her grandparents also, she whisked herself away up to her mother's old room. Sighing, she stared at the moon, its strange orange tint, and what it might mean. Silently, Anne came in to find her on the window seat looking at the world without. As when she was a wee thing, her grandmother brushed her hair and braided it, after which she wrapped her up in a warm embrace.

Later, lying in bed that night, Joyce slept a troubled sleep plagued by nightmares which paralyzed her with fear. In her dreams, she saw her grandmother and grandfather as they must have been upon the death of little Joyce, then Walter, and the darkest days of the Great War. The House of Dreams burned in the night with her parents inside, unaware. She awoke in a cold sweat and sat up in bed. On nights such as these, she found herself wishing to be a little child so at to crawl in bed with her grandmother and believe it really all was just a dream. But it wasn't, her grandparents had endured all of which she dreamt, but the fire. The fire! With a start, she peered out the window looking in the direction of her home. Light only came from the moon and stars, her world was safe. Such premonitions troubled her, but she spoke of them to no one for who would believe such notions? Pondering this question, Joyce fell asleep at last.


	2. A Reverie in Rainbow Valley

Upon waking up the next morning, she found her grandfather was out on a call. Getting dressed, she went downstairs and hurriedly ate her breakfast before going out to Rainbow Valley. This dear place held so many memories for her parents, her aunts and uncles, and so much romance. It was in this place that she dreamed and opened her heart. Her voice often echoed in the nooks of the seemingly magic valley. Having heard of the great stories of romance in her family, she often replayed them in hopes of recognizing romance in her own life. Her favorite story was that of her grandparents', her maternal ones in particular.

Spinning out the familiar story once again, she was about to come to the first proposal as Bruce Meredith stole into the valley. Quietly, lest he disturb her, he hid behind a large tree trunk so as not to be seen. He was well-acquainted with the story and his own life had a bit of romance in it as well. As the story came to a close, he stepped out from behind the tree, frightening Joyce who fell in the stream. After being pulled out, she could not help but wonder at Bruce's presence. The truth be told, he had been on his way up to Ingleside to visit with the doctor.

"Why, Bruce! What brings you to Rainbow Valley?" she inquired.

Bruce, having been lost in his own beautiful reverie, started and replied. Very near to this place, his parents had met and he himself had asked his wife's hand in marriage here. It seemed that all romance stemmed out of this valley.

"You are thinking of something beautiful for a smile is on your lips."

"I suppose so." He paused again grinning. "I must pay a visit to your grandfather. I'm paying a call this afternoon to dear old Mrs. Marshall Elliot and you know her thoughts about men. He always stood up well against her comments so I thought I'd seek some advice. Goodbye, Joyce."

Joyce watched him trudge up the hill recalling stories of Mrs. Elliot when she was yet Miss Cornelia. She was against men it seemed as she was against Methodists. Her grandfather truly had withstood many stings from her in his prime and she knew would be more than willing to provide assistance to Bruce.

Sighing, Joyce returned to her reverie of romance and found herself walking; walking down the valley, through the trees, and into her Uncle Walter's nook. It was silent now; few people ever walked here or even sat in thought. Her mother held this place dear for it was here that she had her last conversation with Walter. Ever since the war, she had been told of that wistful look in her mother's eye, her jaw set in a determined manner, and her authoritative way of speaking. Somehow, it was all connected to this place where sorrow and love mingled as dark and light.

All light breeze had come up sending a chill down her spine. Autumn was three weeks away for it was the beginning of September. Her soaking clothing clung to her showing off her beautiful figure. She did not want to return to Ingleside just yet for Susan would send her to bed until her parents would arrive to take her home. Home- it really was not just hers, it had its own history of romance. Every place in the Glen had romance enough for all Canada. Joyce recalled her dream and bits of conversation she had heard the previous night, they only seemed to chill her to the bone.

While she had been musing over these ideas and rumors, the sky had begun to darken. Large raindrops began to fall once again soaking her clothing which had finally begun to dry. She ran all the way back to Ingleside all the while preparing herself for a scolding from Susan. She would be furious, but would make her feel warm dry, and safe after all was said and done. Walking in the back door, she was greeted by Susan who marched her up the stairs with warm clean clothes. After crawling under the covers, Joyce found a hot water bottle waiting for her and with all the morning's excitement, she fell asleep.


End file.
